


Fear of Intimacy

by ensign_amy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ensign_amy/pseuds/ensign_amy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel shows her signs of affection, it terrifies Meg and Hellbitches will respond to fear in a way correspondent to their nature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear of Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas, ninkasa ^_^.

Meg’s noticed it for weeks, and she’d gotten to the point where she’d gotten ridiculously good at deflecting and dodging it. If life were a video game, she’d have a goddamn S-ranking or something. Every time he’d sidle in closer, she’d conveniently find a reason to slip away or at the very least move her hand – she’d even flat out nudged him out of bed once or twice for putting his arm across her. He’d woken up very confused.

As one does when awakening in mid-fall and very close to meeting what passed for carpet.

And it was fun – or at least it had been. Where he used to give her a curious or annoyed frown, was now some kind of broken, ignored kitten look. Not that Meg had any experience with kittens of course, but she so didn’t need that crap.

For any reason.

Finally, she just elbowed him in the chest one evening. She’d been minding her own business for once, trying to comb out the knots he’d managed to make in her hair while fucking her against the shower wall, but oh no – that wasn’t good enough for him. He’d had to come up behind her and put his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder like it was the goddamn normal thing to do.

Which okay, it was, but that wouldn’t help her argument any.

Again, he seemed disappointed, but Meg was so angry she couldn’t even see. “What the hell was that?” she snapped, tossing the brush onto the sink with a thud. “What part of ‘don’t bother with all that gooey crap’ do you not understand?”

She’d gotten good at gauging his reactions. While he was still disappointed, he wasn’t letting her see it anymore. “I don’t see how this is any different from…”

“Well it is,” she insisted bitterly. “I was horny, I came really hard, and thanks for the help. Now get out.”

Normally that worked. Instead, he just sort of leaned on the sink next to her, bare shoulders tensed as much as his arms. She could see him staring at her through the mirror. Meg kept her eyes down, because if she looked up she was liable to regret it.

“I was under the impression that physical intimacy extended beyond mere copulation,” he said quietly. “I would like for it to be.”

Yeah, she definitely wasn’t interested in looking him in the eye. She could never hold his gaze when they were alone. It was easier to have all that confidence when other people were around to intimidate or annoy. Mostly annoy now that her meatsuit was little more than china doll-sized.

“Then you better find yourself a nice little religious girl, Clarence,” Meg drawled, taking up her brush again. “I’ve seen the way you look at redheads.”

“I don’t want an alternative. I want you.”

It was a good thing they were already in the bathroom – she could feel the chips she’d eaten earlier threatening to come back up. “Well ain’t you just the sweetest thing?” she said mockingly.

By then, she was all but ripping a knot out of her hair. Another reason why he needed to keep his friggin’ hands to himself because that shit hurt, and not in a good way. Hair-pulling only worked if she was on all fours and halfway to happy land.

“Deny what you like,” he continued. “But during our encounter in that prison, you could not have fabricated the look in your eyes.”

She allowed her eyes to flash black at him in the mirror for a second, although it wasn’t something she did often with her current meatsuit. It made her look all pasty. “Was it anything like this?” she asked.

If she hadn’t known better, she’d say he was angry. “No,” he said dejectedly.

He pushed off the edge of the sink and stormed into the bedroom to finish getting dressed. By the time Meg came out, he was already gone.

 

The next time they met, she’d been the one to call, or rather text him. Apparently, not every demon was pleased with the recent development of Crowley’s death. As soon as they found out she’d more or less been involved, she was teleporting herself to a nondescript motel room in Maine and holing up for as long as the salt lines would hold.

That crap was friggin’ boring. Not that she minding laying around in bed, but she had a life – people to kill and angels to corrupt. Especially since she sort of, you know, needed him if she ever wanted to get out.

When she’d typed in ‘It’s 3 AM and I want coffee. Help,’ she hadn’t expected much after hitting the send button. Definitely not for him to show up about three minutes later holding a venti and a slice of lemon cake.

Instead of pouncing like her meatsuit initially told her to, she smirked and climbed off the bed. Predictably, he noticed her lack of trousers first. “That greed I’m sensing, Clarence?” she teased.

Taking the cup and bag from him, she settled herself at the rickety table, tearing into the lemon cake eagerly. She had deliberately avoided brushing her fingers against his.

“Mm, you keep this up, there might be a blowjob in it for you,” she purred.

He just sort of stared. Any other guy, human or demon, would be out of his trousers right then and there in her experience, but not him. Every time she advanced on him, it half felt like rape, and while that was fun in its own right, it wasn’t what she wanted from him. Weird, but there it was.

“I assume you mean oral stimulation,” he said.

Meg almost snorted into her coffee. “No, I’m gonna play a little tune on it and leave,” she said dryly. “What did you think I meant?”

When he looked away, his shoulders slumped. She knew that act – when he got uncomfortable or preoccupied, he’d start looking around the room, namely up in the corners like he was going to find something up there. Knowing him, he probably could.

“I was not expecting anything in return,” he said quietly.

If she was honest with herself, that was slightly disappointing. There was something highly entertaining about taking an angel apart that way – she was beginning to rank it as one of her hobbies. “Well okay, then,” she replied casually. “If you don’t want me to suck you off, that’s fine with me.”

He sighed. “Not every transaction is about intercourse.”

And with the sound of flapping wings, he was gone again. She had coffee, she had lemon cake, but the damn salt lines were still exactly where she’d left them with no one to fly her out. Bastard.

 

Six days later it had to snow and he had to take it upon himself to transport her to an empty street in London or some shit like that. All she’d wanted him to do was fly her away from the hunters and the Devil’s Trap she’d gotten herself stuck in.

She’d allowed him to kiss her for a minute, because damn. One thing that boy definitely had going for him was his tongue and she took a secret pleasure in being the only person to have ever done that with him.

He certainly wasn’t a blushing virgin now.

Taking the kiss as a signal, Meg backed herself against the nearest lamppost, dragging him by the front of his coat. “What’s all this about?” she asked as his teeth scraped against the skin of her throat. “Being the white knight one of your kinks?”

“You look beautiful,” he said simply.

Warning sign number one. When he came back up to her mouth, she gave his bottom lip a harsh bite. “Better watch your step, Clarence,” she warned.

“It’s the truth,” he insisted. “And I’d wanted to share this with you.”

At that, she shoved him away. He seemed genuinely shocked. “What the hell do you think this is?” she asked as loudly as possible. “I’m not your girlfriend, Clarence, I never was.”

“Then how do you justify…?”

“I don’t know if you realized, but I’m still a demon and we’re known to fuck around,” she interjected bitterly. “You want all that cupcakes and sugar cookie crap, you’d be better off looking up another cloud-hopper’s skirt.”

“I believe I’ve made it clear that my interest lies with…”

She laughed bitterly and held up her hands. “Okay, just stop,” she said. “I know you’re like twelve, but come on. I don’t even use your real name! What did you think we were gonna do here – hop in some car and troll Tadfield looking for the anti-Christ? It just don’t work that way. You’re a good lay for a virgin, but goddamn are you stupid.”

None of it seemed to hurt him. Much. Either angels had a fucking amazing emotional filter or it just wasn’t sinking in.

“You’re breaking up with me,” he stated simply.

Meg felt she needed to gouge every open emotional wound she could find and laughed again, even though the hurt look in his eyes was doing a funny thing to her stomach. It was the first time since the prison that she actually felt like herself.

“Overlook the fact that I’d kill your precious Sam and Dean in a hot minute,” she said dryly. “I’d probably make you watch if I thought I could get off on it. But you keep me so satisfied, I don’t have to go there, do I?”

And then she saw what she was looking for in those pretty blue eyes – anger. Raw, burning hatred – this was a thing she knew and understood. Though, she quickly realized she smirked prematurely.

Her back hit the lamppost again, this time hard enough to bruise. No way was she stupid enough to move then. His face was millimetres away from hers, teeth bared, eyes flashing. One hand was on her throat, wrenching her face up while the other clenched tightly into a fist at his side. So goddamn fuckable that Meg could feel her centre give a sympathetic throb.

But that was it – raw electric energy in the air and enough rage to feed off of for days, but he wasn’t doing anything.

“Come on,” she said. “Fuck or fight.”

She would lose. She knew she would lose in a throw-down, but for some reason, she couldn’t stop pushing him. Probably because she also knew he wouldn’t really hit her. Knock her into his arms with a pipe, drop her on a circle of holy fire, sure, but he would never go so far as to actually strike her. The dumb sonovabitch still saw her as a woman when, if she wanted to, she could snatch that angel sword away and jam it wherever she pleased.

Almost as soon as she spoke, he backed off of her, eyes still wild. Meg still didn’t move, noting that her breathing was as laboured as his. “Tell me again how beautiful I am,” she chided

They seemed to stare at each other like that forever, snow falling silently around them. He was the one to leave first, probably flying off to go cry in Dean Winchester’s lap or kill an archangel or whatever the hell he did in his spare time.

 

After that, she’d have thought that was the end of the conversation. After that night, he’d disappeared for days to the point where Meg had thought maybe he wasn’t ever coming back, and then suddenly reappeared in her living room of the week. He all but collapsed onto the sofa next to her.

“Wow, Clarence,” she said, whistling. “Was it my family or yours?”

While his meatsuit was well on the way to healing itself, half his face looked like it had been ripped off. His shirt was stained as red as the angel knife hanging limply from his hand and she was pretty sure if he were human he’d already have bled out from his right thigh.

“It doesn’t matter,” he grunted.

She wasn’t at all prepared for him to promptly draw his legs up and tilt himself over until he landed in her lap like a stone, the good side of his head pillowed on her thigh. Meg immediately gasped – the goddamn angel didn’t look it, but weighed more than a seven-story condominium with balconies and she’d be damned (again) if that were going to fly.

“Look, I know you’re seriously injured, but it doesn’t mean you’re welcome to mama laptime like some…”

“A brother of mine is dead,” Castiel replied firmly, his tone suggesting that if she said anything more, she’d regret it. “He sought to kill people I care about, and I was forced to put an end to him. That makes three members of my family I will miss dearly.”

“Yeah, well cry moar,” Meg replied flatly, trying to lift him just enough so she could slip out. “I ain’t some emotional Shamwow.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he pointed out.

Of course he didn’t. Like he hadn’t known how to text, like he didn’t know where her nickname for him came from, like he’d been a virgin before her. He wouldn’t move and eventually, she just stopped trying to move him.

“So what?” she asked. “Are you stalking me now?”

Meg would never be sure, but she thought she might have heard a very faint huff of laughter. “No more than you…stalk me,” he said, the term obviously a new one for him to use. “I received your texts. All one-hundred and fifty-one of them.”

She shrugged. “One for every Pokemon.”

“I didn’t answer them because I didn’t have fingers where I was,” he said casually. “The damage you see here is purely a manifestation of what my true form sustained.”

Okay, interest officially piqued. “Is that so?” she asked. “Bring me back any bazoolium?”

Just like that. As if nothing ever happened. If he were a demon, she’d be lying on the floor bleeding at the very least. One upside to Castiel was that she wouldn’t wind up shackled naked to a table with a knife in an uncomfortable place. Without her permission – if she played her cards right, she planned to have fun with that in the future.

He shook his head best he could from his position. “I know not of what you speak of,” he rasped. “I will have to keep an eye out next time.”

Meg laughed despite herself. Not that she would ever admit it later, but she allowed her fingers to absently play through his hair. He kind of shivered and bunched up like a cat when she did that – it was adorable.

She sighed. “Guess this means all is forgiven?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Always.”

Meg snorted. “You big girl.”


End file.
